


heaven is under the sun

by LittleSpacePrince



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Annoyed Sam Winchester, Bad Parent John Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer is Dean Winchester's Parent, Bottom Dean, Canon Universe, Caring Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Castiel/Dean Winchester Wing Kink, Crying, Crying Castiel, Dean Winchester Cries During Sex, Dean Winchester Has a Wing Kink, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, FTM Dean Winchester, First Time, First Time Bottom Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Good Parent Mary Winchester, I basically just chopped up canon and used the pieces i like because fuck you, Inspired by Art, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester Friendship, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kid Jack Kline, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Morning Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Parental Bobby Singer, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Sassy Jack Kline, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Trans Character, Trans Dean Winchester, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Dean Winchester, Transphobia, Virgin Castiel, Wing Kink, Wings, sam winchester is annoyed with everything in life, the bunker has thin walls, they just have too many emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpacePrince/pseuds/LittleSpacePrince
Summary: Castiel is inexperienced. Dean seeks to rectify this, one step at a time."Their safe place, their haven, their little place carved out of heaven brought down to earth. He smiled softly and pressed a kiss just below Cas’ ear as they lay chest to chest, breaths heaving, flesh flushed hot and damp with sweat. Damn the heavens above. Heaven was a place under the sun."





	heaven is under the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broken_fannibal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broken_fannibal/gifts).



> For my dear friend, broken_fannibal (brokenfannibal on tumblr). Their art inspired me to write some FTM Dean, and later some wing kink Cas. I loved every second of writing this, and adore the art that inspired it. So please, go give them some love. 
> 
> Link to their [tumblr](http://brokenfannibal.tumblr.com/)  
> Link to their [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broken_fannibal/pseuds/broken_fannibal)
> 
> Link to Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/grahamlecteredits/playlist/3LRTGLHRjTvjZN6r4dtqMJ?si=q84wt2TDQ5CNYQiUdSBdbg

They moved slow. 

Achingly slow, agonizingly slow, slow to the point where Dean felt like he was losing his goddamn mind, but he still hadn’t quite learned how to pick up the pace. How did he initiate anything beyond chaste kisses and cuddling? 

Cas liked to hold him while he slept. Cas liked to kiss him in the mornings before getting up and making coffee. Cas liked soft, sleepy kisses just before Dean dozed off. Cas liked to lay in bed with him while he slept, in moments when Dean could almost feel his wings. Cas liked to watch over him like some fucking guardian angel. And it was sweet, and it was slow, and Dean loved every single agonizing second. 

But he didn’t initiate anything further than that. Cas didn’t kiss him for longer than a few seconds at a time. He didn’t push toward sex, rarely ever even saw him without a shirt on, always turning his eyes away quickly when he did these days. Every gentle push of the envelope was met with swift and silent rejection in the form of averted eyes and a change of subject. Hell, Cas seemed almost obsessed with modesty. 

It was fucking infuriating. 

Dean had been ready for more for months, but Castiel never failed to pull away every time he took a step toward it. Every time he took a risk, Castiel took a step away, defusing anything that could possibly even lead to sex. It was agonizing. Especially on days like these. 

He was due for his shot. Overdue, actually, having gotten caught up in a case for three days longer than expected, putting him two behind on his next injection. He’d driven all through the night, just to get home to this. Not the most pleasant thing to be coming home to, but it was necessity all the same. 

And, of course, the shot always gave him a burst of energy, the last thing that he needed this time, when all he wanted to do was fall on his bed and sleep. Not to mention the kind of energy it tended to give him was not an energy so easily relieved with such a hesitant partner. 

Dean stripped himself of his shirt, and then of his jeans, leaning against the bed in nothing but his boxers. He balanced the needle between his fingers, syringe filled with the familiar clear liquid. The thing he’d been stabbing himself with every two weeks since he was eighteen. He raised it to his eyes, balancing it between his thumb and forefinger before grasping it in his fist and deciding on a new course of action. 

“Hey Cas,” Dean called.

He heard the footsteps come down the hallway, door creaking open a moment later. Blue eyes found his before turning sharply away just a moment later, refusing to look at him so exposed. Dean figured that it was for the sake of modesty. Cas’ old angelic tendencies refused to allow him to indulge in the lust of his flesh, and he would turn away from it, even as far from heaven as he had fallen. 

Though, in actuality, it was hardly so simple. Castiel was far past the point of caring about sins so petty as lust. No, he turned his eyes for the sake of his fear at what could come next. 

“Cas,” he said, something defeated in his voice. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replied, eyes averted, turned away from him, no matter how badly he might have been tempted to look. Castiel was never one for eye contact anyway, but this was almost excessive. 

“Cas, look at me, please,” Dean sighed. 

Eyes turned back toward him, blue eyes meeting green across the room, demanding that his attention be kept. Dean reached out, beckoning him forward, and Cas obeyed, stepping toward him. 

“Will you give me my shot?” Dean asked softly. 

He normally did it himself. No, he always did it himself, seeing it as his act of retribution against his own body. He would slay the thing that had caused him so much misery each time, vanquish the beast that was his own biology for the sake of some better life. For the sake of being free within the confines of his own skin. 

He would’ve performed top surgery on himself too, nearly did in one night of drunken rage. Bobby had taken the blade from his hand and given him makeshift job instead. Hospitals were hardly on option when you were wanted on too many counts of identity theft, impersonating an officer, and credit card fraud to count. A half-sterile room in Bobby’s basement, homemade anaesthetic, and three infections later, Dean was finally freed. 

But maybe he could trust this one thing to Castiel. A form of intimacy in the form of a needle pressed into his thigh. If he couldn’t get Cas between his legs, he could at least get the press of his hand against his thigh, the stick of a needle into his skin. It was something new, at least. 

Cas faltered for only a moment before nodding, taking the syringe from his hands and pausing for instruction. 

“Here,” Dean said, gesturing to the place where he always pricked himself. “I already got it prepped. Just aim and shoot.” 

Cas inhaled sharply, pulling back the needle as it hovered just above the skin. Dean reached up, a hand grazing lightly against his arm until he relaxed, letting out his breath. Still, he hesitated, blue eyes glancing up to meet green as Castiel’s free hand gently pressed against Dean’s thigh. 

“Hey,” Dean murmured. “It’s okay. You’re not gonna hurt me.” 

Cas nodded, giving a small smile and inhaling slowly before pressing the needle into his thigh. Dean squeezed tight against his arm, taking in a breath as he watched him push it into his muscle, savoring the familiar burn as it entered his system. 

Dean relaxed against Castiel’s shoulder, forehead pressed into the crook of his neck, sighing as the needle released him. He felt Cas reach for a cotton swab and a bandage, cleaning up the pinprick and pulling the bandaid over it. His fingers were gentle, soft with him, almost afraid that he might break. 

“Thanks, Cas,” he murmured, turning up to face him. Blue met green and Dean found his lips wandering to meet his angel’s, pulling him tighter into him, kiss hazy and soft against his mouth. 

He hadn’t meant for it to happen. It hadn’t been some attempt to trap him into sex - he had tried far more seductive attempts, sexier than stabbing him in the thigh with a needle. It was mere coincidence that this would be the time that Cas would let him further, pull him tighter than he had before. 

Lazy kisses deepened to something more, reaching heights they hadn’t quite reached before. His grip tightened around his shoulders, pulling Cas deeper into him, until the cotton of his shirt and tie were all that Dean could feel against his chest. Things taken slow, nothing too fast, nothing too rough. Tongue slipping between parted lips, the gentle parting of Dean’s thighs, beckoning him in between them. 

Cas tried to gasp for breath, knew better than to allow this to venture any further, but Dean was insistent. His lips and tongue and teeth and legs beckoned him further, edged him closer, pulled him in deeper. He was hungry and wanting and demanding, and Castiel found himself helpless but to follow him, helpless but to allow for it. His body moved in a way that felt natural, like he had done it before, though they had never truly ventured so far. Not like this. 

Dean could feel Castiel hardening against the inside of his thigh. Grasping hands, kneading against exposed flesh, pulling him tighter. Dean could hardly breathe, Cas swallowing each gasp and hitch, pulling him closer, closer… 

He wanted it. If nothing else, his vessel wanted it. Cas rarely became hard, and when he did, it was strictly on biological impulse and never for the sake of his own desires and attractions. Or, of course, that was the way that it had been before Dean. But the curious twitch and throb, the occasional erection whenever he caught Dean without a shirt on, only to be quickly concealed and suppressed. But now, he wanted it. He wanted him. Wanted all of him. 

But he would deny himself again, to quickly conceal and suppress and act as though nothing had happened. It was better that way. Easier that way. 

“Dean,” Cas breathed, chest heaving as he pulled away. For a moment, Dean figured it to be some breathy attempt at dirty talk, whispered names falling from his tongue before the second part of that sentence made it past his lips. “We can’t.” 

“Why not?” Dean whined, needy and half pathetic. He’d had enough of this, desperate for something more than what they had. “There’s nothing stopping us. Sam’s asleep, Jack’s… Well, I don’t know what Jack’s doing, but no one’s gonna come stop us, and…” 

Dean’s fingers curled softly against the hand placed against his hip, pulling it down between his legs. There was no resistance in him, no pull against his hand, merely a shuddered breath drawn from Cas’ lips and eyes turned away as his palm pressed flat against the warm fabric. Just another sin committed against a god that no longer cared about them. 

“Feel me? I’m hard, Cas,” he said, half in a mewl. “I’m really fuckin’ hard, my t-shot always makes me really fuckin’ horny.” 

“That’s… The testosterone has barely entered your system, it hasn’t had time-” Cas began. 

“Then _you_ make me really fuckin’ horny, Cas. I want you. I want you so frickin’ bad I can’t think straight,” he begged, eyes pleading with him for something more. Just a little bit more. 

Castiel pulled his hand away, pushing it through his hair before turning away from him. The nature of their conversations had never turned so sexual, not like this. Dean talked about sex, but never asked for it. Castiel had asked about the nature of it, but rarely let it go beyond that. This was further than either had ever ventured. For a moment, Dean feared that he’d pushed him to far. 

But Castiel was hard for him. He had felt it. At least at a biological level, Cas wanted him. But he refused to pursue it, refused to go further than kisses, refused to travel anywhere below the belt. Refused to touch him. 

“Cas, I don’t…” he trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to say. “Is it because I’m trans? Because I thought you didn’t care about that, but look, man, if it’s a problem…” 

“No!” Castiel’s voice came out near a shout, eyes turning back to him with all sincerity in his eyes. Hands returned to the sides of Dean’s thighs, gently running over his skin. Dean sighed, pushing up against his touch, leaning into him before he pulled away again. “Nothing like that. I… I want you just the way you are. I love you, just the way you are.” 

“Then why? Why don’t you want me, Cas?” 

There was a pause, and Cas turned away again, eyes downcast and hands moving away from Dean’s thighs. He looked bashful, almost ashamed, even. Dean wanted to reach out, take his hands, coax the words from him, but he refrained, rather watching, waiting for the words to come on their own. 

Castiel took in a breath and turned to the man that he had grown to love, and decided that it was better not to lie to him. There had been too long spent avoiding the subject altogether, it was better to face it head on, he supposed. The way that Dean was kissing him, the way that Dean had rubbed against him, it made him want it. There was no denying it. They would have to have this conversation eventually. 

“I’m… Sexually inexperienced. I fear… I would disappoint.” 

Dean let out a sigh, half frustrated and half relieved. It was something that could be worked through without issue, sure, but in the months that they had been together, it was something that could have been resolved toward the beginning. Instead, there had just been avoidance, until it drove him fucking crazy. 

“Cas, you’re not gonna disappoint me. You’re a virgin, it’s fine. We’ll build you up, work you up, it’ll be good. You didn’t have to avoid me like I had the goddamn plague, sweetheart,” he said, hopping up from the bed and pulling Castiel closer to him, stealing a small kiss, and another. 

His kisses led to excitement, an excitement that Castiel’s vessel was made to respond to by design. He could feel himself growing thick between his legs, stiff and somewhat painful, yearning for friction and for relief, whatever that might feel like. Jimmy would have known, and his body would have remembered, but Castiel had little such experience, had little such knowledge. He didn’t even know where to begin with what it might feel like. 

Cas let out a small noise, somewhere between arousal and reluctance as Dean pulled him close, tight against his chest, before he pulled away again, eyes downcast. 

“Cas,” he breathed in quiet begging. There was something more than his own inexperience. Something more pressing than a fear of disappointing. “What’s wrong?” 

“I…” 

He fell quiet for a moment, hands hesitant in Dean’s. The room fell quiet, the silence stretching too long for comfort before Cas finally spoke again. 

“I have no idea what it might… What it might feel like,” he confessed. “Sexual pleasure, sexual… stimulus. I fear I might…” 

Humiliation seized in his chest at the confession. A being old as time itself inexperienced in something that a man of only thirty odd years knew like the back of his hand, it was enough to drive him to shrink away from it. Easier to avoid it than to face his own inadequacies. 

Dean’s brows drew together tightly as he pulled Cas’ eyes back toward him, meeting his gaze again. “What do you mean, you have no idea what it might feel like? It’s different than jerking off, but… Not by that much. You know what that feels like, right?” 

Castiel’s eyes just turned away again, and it was enough of an answer. 

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean sighed. “You’ve been vessel hopping for how many centuries now, and you’ve never thought to jerk off?” 

“It felt… Invasive. The body was not mine, it felt… wrong,” he explained. 

“But your vessel’s pretty well empty. Novak has been gone for awhile, I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna care much if you play with his bits. It’s your body, Cas, it’s been yours for god knows how many years now.” 

Cas didn’t answer, rather just opting to give a small nod, still refusing to look him in the eye. 

Dean sighed, sympathetic to his plight. The centuries spent as heaven’s servant had come to a rather abrupt end, sacrificed for his sake, for Sam’s, for humanity’s. Castiel had fallen in love with the human race, and had fallen in love with Dean, so fast that he’d barely been able to comprehend it. What was years to Dean felt like seconds to Castiel, having lived as long as he’d lived. This was a sudden change, to be more human than angel at this point. And there were certain changes that came with that that he hadn’t had the courage to embrace quite yet. 

But there were certain things that Cas needed to feel. Certain things that generally came with being human, things that he wanted Cas to embrace. The simple joys of masturbation being one of them. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Dean sighed, pulling him toward the bed, the two falling onto unmade sheets. Cas fell over top of him, but Dean quickly rolled the both of them over, pushing Cas onto his back, straddling his hips and stealing a kiss.

He reached to undo the top button of his button down, and the next, and the next, without protest from Castiel. Even in his bashfulness, he wasn’t exactly resistant. Kisses stolen, kisses given, fingers trailing down the expanse of his chest, it was enough to get him to relax. 

“If you wanna stop, we’ll stop. You just gotta say the word, and we’ll drop it. But I wanna teach you how to jerk off, at least. Okay?”

There was a pause of consideration. “Okay.” 

Dean smiled, stealing another quick kiss before rolling away from him, reaching into the bottom drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. He pulled out a toy - a particular favorite of his, one he’d saved up and paid good money for when he first decided to start having sex with women again. Unattached Drifter Christmas had always been made complicated by the details of his downstairs, but this had made things a little easier in his years of hookups. Now, he’d be using it for something a little more special. 

It was a simple prosthetic. Realistic enough, hollow, with a place for a vibrator. He fastened it into place with the hook on his boxers, one he’d put in all of his boxers for the sake of ease with packing. He could feel Castiel’s eyes watching him adjust it, turning on the vibrator before settling it against his growth, completely fucking fixated by it. 

“Whatcha thinkin’, Cas?” Dean said before letting out a quiet groan, settling to the feeling of the vibrator against his t-cock. 

“It looks… Real,” Cas murmured, eyes fixed on the prosthetic. 

“More or less,” he replied, reaching over toward the nightstand and grabbing the small bottle of lube that he kept there. “It doesn’t have balls, so that’s a downer.” 

Cas didn’t quite seem to register what he was saying, rather opting to watch as Dean began to stroke, it more of a habit than anything else. This one was his favorite, the one he’d managed to connect with. It almost felt real, natural to lay and stroke himself as he hardened, the movement felt in the pressure of the vibrator. Cas watched, mesmerized by his movements, enraptured with the way he moved, the way he touched himself… 

“Can you… Penetrate, with it?” 

His question was tentative, uncertain, drawing a cocked eyebrow from Dean. He’d fucked with it before, a good dozen times or so, though he’d never used it on another guy. Had never used it in the backdoor, wasn’t quite sure how well it would work with anal. Though, the question still struck as odd. Had never really pegged Cas as a bottom, exactly, though Dean could stand to be corrected. 

“Well, yeah. Why, you want me to fuck you with it?” 

Cas glanced down toward himself, then again at the toy. It looked big, too big to fit inside of him comfortably. Of course, he knew the basic mechanics of sex between men, and knew that it could be singularly pleasurable, but… 

He quickly shook his head, opting against it, at least for now. 

There was half a twinge of disappointment, and it must have shown, though mostly unintentional. Dean would’ve had no qualms with taking Castiel’s cock inside of him, could’ve been perfectly content with taking it in his front hole. He fantasized about it even, wanted to take Cas’ cock inside of him, though it had taken him a long time to get to be okay with that. But he liked to fuck, liked to top, and had imagined Cas on his hands and knees for him on more than one occasion. 

But his disappointment didn’t go unnoticed, as Castiel’s eyes turned back toward him with half a look of panic, as though he’d been misunderstood. 

“Not right now,” he corrected himself quickly. It was by no means a settled statement, but rather something for the here and now. He would try anything Dean wanted, would be glad just to be in his presence, even if it took a moment to work up to that point. “Maybe… Maybe someday, though.” 

“We’ll play more later. Explore, see what feels good, what doesn’t. We don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to, okay?” Dean said, reaching over to put a hand on Cas’ thigh in an attempt to keep him calm. 

“Okay,” Cas echoed, giving a small nod. 

Dean offered him a small smile, leaning over to press a kiss against his lips. Short, gentle, warm, everything that Cas was to him. In the years that it had taken them to fall in love, there had been good, and there had been bad, but Castiel had always been something like his sunshine. Even when they hurt each other, even when Castiel had beat him near the brink of death, even when Dean had done the same, he had always felt warmer next to Cas. He’d always felt something easier with Cas. Something better. 

“Strip for me, alright?” Dean said, and Cas obeyed. 

Nudity had taken some time for him to grasp, really. Angels knew no such concepts without physical manifestations, and to learn that shame should accompany the naked form had been something that had taken him time to learn. Though, he supposed, this lack of learned shame made it easier for him to bare himself to Dean. 

Or perhaps it was just Dean that made it easy. 

Dean watched as Castiel tossed aside clothes, baring himself, bare against his sheets. Dean felt his cock twitch, a soft moan brought to his lips at the very sight of him. He was a fucking sight to behold, radiant as the goddamn sun. His cock was hard against his hip, pre-come leaking from the slit and pooling against his skin, skin flushed pink as he relaxed against the pillows, hair pulled in twenty different directions and eyes anxiously awaiting further instruction… 

“Here,” Dean offered, gesturing for Cas to give him his hand. He pumped a small bit of lube onto his fingers, enough to make the slide easier. He did the same, slicking his hand before taking it to the prosthetic, giving himself a few solid pumps. “Like this.” 

He lazily stroked himself, the vibe pressing harder against his actual cock with each pump, but Dean was more focused on Castiel’s movements. He watched as his hand reached down to meet his cock, fingers curling around his stiffened length before giving himself a curious pull, a sharp gasp drawn from his throat at the first contact. 

Unlike anything he had felt before. 

Castiel gripped himself tightly, stroking himself in jerky movements, none so coordinated, none so graceful. But the pleasure pooling just beneath the movement of his hands left him gasping for air, and he could hardly be bothered with what he looked like. All he knew was the pleasure overcoming him for the first time, and how desperately he needed to chase after it. 

“Feel good?” Dean asked softly, smirking to himself. 

_“Oh,”_ he sighed, finally beginning to understand such sensations so intertwined with humanity. Unholy, lustful desires that would’ve gotten him kicked out of heaven were now welcome, pleasure throbbing through the shaft of his cock and seizing in his pelvis, spreading through him as he thrust up into his hand. _“Dean…”_

Dean watched him with rapt attention, watching as he succumbed to something more primal than what he had ever been used to. Castiel, angel of the lord, committing acts of the flesh, acts to surely damn him to hell, and all with his name on his tongue. Dean could’ve come at the very thought. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Dean encouraged, spurring him on, begging him to keep going. This was a sight that could get him off for the rest of eternity. 

“Dean, Dean, I…” he stuttered and trailed, trying to form words, but there was nothing but the name of his lover on his lips. Nothing but the man he fell in love with could form from his tongue. 

“It feels good, doesn’t it, baby? Feels real good.” 

All that Cas could manage was a small nod as he continued, giving himself another unsteady stroke, his movements jerky and uncoordinated and entirely too fast as he thrust up into his hand. They were the desperate, curious thrusts of a thirteen-year-old, closing in on orgasm for the first time, chasing after it too fast for the experience to be savored. 

“Hey, hey, chill, man,” Dean chuckled, reaching out a hand to steady him, pressing it against a hip to keep him calm. He could vaguely make out a handprint left there in lube when he finally moved away, hand returning to his cock. “Slower. You’re gonna finish in, like, three seconds like that. Watch me.” 

Dean set a steady pace, eyes on Cas as Cas’ eyes turned to watch, following his lead. Slow, steady strokes, setting an easy pace for him to follow. Normally, Dean would’ve been faster with himself, rougher, but he wanted Cas to take his time. He wanted to savor every second of it. 

And boy, was it fucking worth it. 

They were quiet, at first. Cas was always pretty quiet, just as a general rule, never overly talkative. But they began in quiet moans, quickly turning to strangled whines as his fist picked up a bit of speed. It wasn’t intentional, Dean could tell. His body ached for friction, for release, and Dean wasn’t about to deny him that, not yet. He listened as Cas grew noisier, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath through it. 

Dean groaned loud as Cas screamed out his name, stroking gripping tight to his cock. His cries were unrestrained now, and Dean half wondered if Sam could hear him. He wondered if he would be jolted awake by the sound of Dean’s name on Cas’ tongue, echoing through the bunker. He half laughed to himself. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time that Sam had woken up to the sound of someone screaming his name. 

Dean let out a loud moan as he stroked himself, nearing his own completion. He could feel himself gush wet between his legs, something that rarely happened anymore. He didn’t usually get wet, not after all these years on T, but just the sight of Cas, debauched and moaning out his name, was enough to make him slick between his thighs. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, you’re doing so good,” Dean praised softly as Cas began to squirm, muscles contracting and back arching as he bucked into his fist. “That’s it… Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Castiel couldn’t speak. Instead, he let out a high pitched whine, something almost akin to the blaring noise that shook Dean to his core the first time Cas had tried to speak to him. Not quite so violent, not enough to shatter the windows and force him to double over in agony, but it damn well shook Dean to his very core. 

“So good, Cas, you’re doing so good… Next time, I’ll touch you myself. Make you squirm like that myself,” Dean mused, his own cock twitching hard. He was pretty sure that he could’ve come without the vibrator, without even the touch of fingers. He could’ve come untouched, at the sight of Cas alone. “I’ll put my mouth on you, baby, suck you off… I’ll make you come so hard you see stars, and I’ll swallow it all.” 

_“Dean,”_ Cas whined, barely choking out his name as he continued to stroke himself. He stroked himself until he was breathless, each breath coming out in a desperate wheeze, lungs burning on his name. 

“Breathe, Cas, breathe… You gotta breathe, baby,” Dean warned as he pumped his own fist faster, his own breaths labored as he began to twitch with the vibrations, teetering on the brink of his own orgasm. He always did come fast anyway, his t-cock about ten times more sensitive than that of a regular penis. But the sight of Cas laid out, moaning and breathless and fucking beautiful, only spurred him on. 

Cas obeyed, sucking in a hard breath, back arching up off the bed and blue eyes shooting wide open. Pre-cum was dripping onto his stomach, staining his hand, and he could feel his balls beginning to tighten against him, drawing up to his body in preparation for what was to come next. 

He had a basic knowledge of what would come next. He had a basic understanding of his own anatomy, even if he had never put it to use. He would reach his orgasm, seed would spill, but he knew little beyond that. He didn’t know what it would feel like when it came, or if he would even be able to handle it. 

“You’re doing so good, angel. Fucking dripping. You feel that?” Dean egged on, hoping that his words would bring him to completion. “You feel yourself getting close?” 

“Close, Dean, ‘m close,” Cas heaved, free hand gripping at the sheets in futile attempts to ground himself as his orgasm approached, a tidal wave that couldn’t be stopped now if they tried. “I’m… I’m gonna…” 

“Come for me, baby, come for me.” 

Castiel obeyed with a shout, head tossed back against pillows as his body surged roughly, almost as if electrocuted. Hot, white ropes of semen spurted from the tip of his cock as it twitched and came, painting his stomach, his chest, the underside of his chin. Contractions seized in his pelvis as waves of insurmountable pleasure wracked through his bones. His vision went white and eyes rolled back as the strokes of his hand grew messy and uncoordinated. 

Dean let out a loud moan at the very sight that lay before him. Castiel’s cries of ecstasy rang through the room, and Dean quietly noted that there was no way in hell that Sam wasn’t hearing this right now. 

_“Fuck, fuck,_ baby, keep going,” Dean encouraged just as his own orgasm followed suit. There was no tangible proof of it, not like the pools of semen that splattered across Castiel’s body. But there was the hard twitch and throb, and the contractions of the muscles within him, and the pulse of fluid that spilled between his legs. _“Oh, god, Cas.”_

Cas mewled Dean’s name as he forced himself to keep stroking, even into oversensitivity. His cries and shouts turned to whimpers, hands shaking as he milked himself dry, even as his cock struggled to soften in his grasp. 

Dean groaned at the sound of it, could practically imagine himself sheathed inside of Cas’ body, hearing him cry out for him, beg for more as he fucked him until he came, continuing on until he was drained fucking dry. Or maybe Cas would be inside of him, crying out like that as Dean rode his cock so hard he wouldn’t be able to see straight. In any scenario, the sound of his name on Castiel’s tongue made him come harder, until he was spent and oversensitive. 

He was seeing stars by the time he pulled the vibrator away from his cock and tossed it aside, tugging off his now-soiled boxers, wet and stained with his own fluid. That hadn’t happened in awhile. 

He rolled onto his stomach, resting a hand on Cas’ chest to still him as the last of his orgasm was milked from him. He was messy, covered in his own cum, beautiful in debauched ecstasy and the aftermath. Heaving chest, sweat beaded against his brow, eyes still unable to be pulled open… 

He was so fucking beautiful. 

Dean was determined to see him like this again, and to be the thing that pulled such expressions from him. Maybe he would let Cas thrust like that into the damp heat of his mouth, until he came down the back of his throat and the warmth pooled in the pit of his belly. Maybe he would push back his legs and fuck him himself, make him cum untouched, crying out as Dean plowed against his prostate. Maybe he would let Cas fuck into him, use his front hole, that intimate place that no one had ever touched, no one had ever penetrated. Maybe he would ride him to completion, keep the control and make Cas cry out his name… 

_“Fuck,_ Cas,” Dean breathed, pressing his lips along Cas’ jaw, pressing sleepy, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. “That was so good.” 

Castiel didn’t open his eyes. His muscles relaxed, body falling lax next to him, sinking into sheets and steadying breaths as he eased into Dean’s touch. The whole thing felt almost innocent. When Dean had lost his virginity, the experience had been so uncomfortable that he hadn’t been able to thoroughly enjoy it. Now, it seemed almost like a second chance at that. A second sexual awakening, accompanied by the hazy contentedness that he wished he’d had before, with someone infinitely more important. 

Cas let out a quiet sigh, head rolling to the side to claim Dean’s lips sleepily. Even the way he kissed felt different, as if something had changed in him with his first release. Something was easier in him, something was softer, something was sleepier and more receptive to him. Dean smiled against his lips, nuzzling in tighter to him.

“So good, Dean. So good.”

~~~

Dean Jonathan Winchester had been born and raised Deanna Lynn Winchester.

His mother had been understanding when she had been alive. He was four when he started pulling out the long, dirty blonde strands of hair that hung from his head, when he started violently kicking off the dresses he was put in on Sunday mornings, when he began screaming at anyone who dared to call him a girl. He demanded the ‘n’ and the ‘a’ be eradicated from his name, insisted that he be treated like the boys he had been roughing around with since he was old enough to walk. Such violent reactions could only indicate one such thing. 

He could remember the first buzz of a razor against his head, and the sound of his mother’s clippers snipping at his hair. He remembered smiling when he saw himself in the mirror, standing tall and proud next to her. He remembered the screaming match she’d had with his father that night, one that ended with his father storming out and his mother clinging to him in tears. He could remember the unhappy agreement they finally settled upon, with agreements to call him by the name that he’d chosen for himself but to never call him a son. 

He remembered very little of the time after, but he remembered being happy. He remembered his mother’s coos to baby Sam, introducing Dean as big brother. He remembered the occasional pitched fit from his father, and the comfort found in small button downs, and the way he smiled when his mother put him in a tie for the first time. 

His mother died and his father snapped. 

He barely spoke in the following months. When he did, he never called Dean by name. He hardly looked at him in those months, hardly spoke to him, hardly did anything outside of obsessing and obsessing and obsessing over the goddamned yellow-eyed demon. 

He snapped when Dean came tugging at the hem of his jacket, asking him to cut his hair the way his mother used to. It had grown down to his shoulders, people were beginning to mistake him for a girl, the fits and tantrums were starting again, much against Dean’s own conscious will. Overwhelmed, his own skin crawling, his body not feeling like his own. He needed a haircut. 

John hit him. 

Screamed, slapped him in the face, brought him to his knees. He’d been drunk when he did it, as he usually was in those days. Surly, alcoholic bastard. He told him to cut his bullshit, that he was a girl and always would be, and that he better start fucking acting like it. 

His hair grew long, everything in him grew cold. A stony shell of what he had been before, locked away in the recesses of his own mind, refusing to be anything other than the hunter his father had trained him up to be. The ‘n’ and the ‘a’ returned to the end of his name, he grew taller and his chest grew thicker and his hips grew wider as he resisted the urge to tear off his own skin, to flay himself to muscle and bone. 

He was eleven when the eating disorder started. Starvation could slow the rate of development, skin and bone better than fat and curve. It offered him an ounce of control over the changes in his body. It made the bleeding stop. It let him sleep easier. 

His father didn’t notice until he passed out on a hunt, got himself damn near killed by a werewolf, only saved by a shotgun blast from his father’s pointed gun. His father didn’t notice until he was admitted into the hospital for three days from malnutrition. His father rarely noticed anything. 

Even still, there was no real help for him. No professional help beyond his father keeping a stricter eye on his eating habits. He exchanged his own clothes for his father’s, practically drowning in them but still preferring them over his own. They hid everything, so he didn’t have to look down and see it. Maybe he would’ve been read as a boy, if not for the hair that he quickly grew to detest. The hair his father never let him cut. 

He was fourteen when he realized that he liked both. Girls, boys, it didn’t matter, but he knew that he didn’t like the way that it felt when boys looked at him. Looked at him like he was a girl, looked at him like something to fuck. He didn’t much like the way girls looked at him either, not exactly, but there was something easier in it. Something closer to the way he wanted to be looked at. 

He kissed a girl that same year, a cute, older lesbian who he’d met on a hunt. She was maybe sixteen, with a confidence that Dean had aspired to. Florence, her name had been. Pixie type of redhead whose brother had been found dead in a pretty open-and-shut Rugaru case. Flirtations had been discrete, but had earned him a few dirty looks from his father. She kissed him quick, but not quick enough. 

His father kicked him that night. Beat the living shit out of him, until he was spitting blood and was left with a black eye, along with black and blue marks all the way down his torso. He only stopped when Sam started screaming, begging him to stop. 

John always did listen to Sammy. 

It didn’t stop the beatings completely, though. There were times when John would take him out back, whip him into shape if he was ever caught ogling at a girl. Dean figured that it was less about the homophobia and more about the fact that he was having feelings toward anyone. If he started to catch feelings for anyone, then he might leave. Might escape for some better life, might make a run for something other than what he had, might leave the family business behind him. Homophobia just gave him a reason. 

He was sixteen when he first had sex. Sixteen when he didn’t come back to the motel one night, sixteen when some girl whose name he barely remembered stripped him of his clothes, leaving everything exposed. He was sixteen when he felt everything choke up in his chest at the sight of his naked form, and the wrong parts exposed. 

He was sixteen when he buzzed off the hair he’d grown to despise. The very next morning, in the bathroom sink, the long hair he’d always despised came off and he was set free. 

His father very nearly disowned him for that stunt. Screaming so loud it woke the neighbors in the motel, so violent that he left a hole in the wall. He told him to get out, to get out and not come back for something as simple as a haircut. 

It scared him. Dean knew that it did. It scared him to think that he might lose his daughter, scared him to think that she might turn out to be some dyke. Old-fashioned bullshit that left him with bruises and scars from his outbursts. He always took the bruises and the scars, even for things he hadn’t earned. 

Better than Sammy taking the blow. 

It was Sammy that convinced him to let him stay. It was only a haircut, that was all. It would give him a new advantage, keep him from having his ponytail yanked during fights. It didn’t mean much, he was reading too deep into it, that was all. 

Though, maybe those words didn’t quite ring true. Maybe John was reading into it just the perfect amount, seeing something that he didn’t want to see and understanding what it meant. 

Dean learned the word ‘transgender’ two months later. 

It was after another secret love affair, hidden and tucked away in some back alley with a girl that he’d met on a case, some bi chick with an undercut and a tongue piercing. She pushed him up against the wall, some hot and heavy making out against the brick and asphalt. She’d slipped a hand up his shirt, fingers groping at his chest until he squirmed and pushed her away, crossing his arms tight to press down the things that caused such discomfort and disconnect. 

She had stared for a long time. Apologized profusely, and then sat down, leaning against the dumpster adjacent to him, beckoning him to sit. They talked, and they talked, until he feared that John might come looking for him, if he even noticed his absence. She asked him if he might be trans, mentioning an ex that had been the same as him. Squirmy. Hair buzzed short, chest pressed down flat with tight arms. 

He did what research he could, peeks stolen at books found in the corners of libraries. He dropped the ‘n’ and the ‘a’ from his name when he met strangers. He stole ace bandages from the first aid kits and used them to bind his chest. He kept his hair buzzed short, stuffed socks into his underwear, kept clothes loose and voice low. 

His father was too oblivious to him to notice until months later. They had been on a hunt, there had been an altercation with a nest of vamps. One had caught him with a clawed and, three nails digging deep into his side, through the bandages. The bandages, though, held in the blood, tightened against the wound, to a point where Dean figured that the pain in his chest was just the normal kind of pain that he always felt. 

It wasn’t until he passed out on the bathroom floor that his father found out. 

He undid his bindings to find three deep slashes, and the blood came gushing out, running down his sides and dripping onto the bathroom floor. There was no way for him to explain the delayed reaction, so he stood, trying to slow the bleeding with a towel, bandage falling to the floor beside him. He tried, and tried, until the blood got to be too much, and his vision began to blur, and he fell into a heap on the floor. 

His father had stitched him up and sat at his bedside. The moment he came to, he told him to get out. 

There was no discussion. There was no fight. There were no fists thrown, there were no screams loud enough to echo through the rest of the motel. Dean simply rose to his feet, packed his clothes and a shotgun, and he left. 

He stayed in an old abandoned cabin that he’d stumbled across in the backwoods of Kentucky. It took Sam four weeks to find him, four weeks to bring him home. Four weeks of living off of shotgunned beers and skittles. Chest bound and jeans packed, with no one there to tell him what to do or who to be, he was freed. 

Sammy found him on the old tattered couch that he’d been sleeping on. Barged in in the middle of the night, ended up with the barrel of a shotgun in his face before Dean realized who it was. He tossed his gun aside when he realized that it was Sam, invited him in, talked for hours about who he was when Sam called him brother for the first time. 

It took months before he was allowed to come home, though. Dean was sent to live with Bobby for awhile. It was better that way. Sam was able to come and visit, he was able to survive off more than beer and stolen candy. Bobby took him in without question and without hesitation, respected him more than his father ever had. Dean could remember tears welling up in his eyes the first time Bobby ever called him ‘son.’ The first time anyone called him ‘son.’ 

Those were some of the better times, months spent with Bobby. His name was the only name he heard, the pronouns always correct on the first try. Bobby helped him find clothes that fit a little better, though Dean refused to discard of his father’s worn leather jacket. He took him on hunts, oftentimes describing him as his son when undercover. In those months, Bobby played dad to a son he’d never gotten to have himself, and Dean got the love from a father that he always craved. 

Sam convinced John to let him come back after a while. It took time, and Dean was half tempted to refuse the offer, but he eventually did rejoin his brother and his father. John refused to call him by name, just like he had when he was young, in the months after his mother had died. He didn’t use pronouns, would never call him son. But the drunken beatings stopped. The shouting stopped. The pain stopped. 

Then Sam left. 

His father grew too distracted to care about him anymore. Most of the time, he hung back with Bobby, rarely even seeing his father for more than a few minutes at a time. In the months of distraction and obliviousness, Dean sought out a better life for himself. Bought himself a binder, committed a few acts of identity theft and fraud to get himself on testosterone. His body began to change and freedom came in a dropping voice and a forming adam’s apple and a sharper jaw and the burgeonings of stubble, until he was almost comfortable with what stared back at him in the mirror. 

It wasn’t until he accompanied John on a hunting trip again that it all came tumbling down. It wasn’t until John found his stash of needles and hormones that he realized what was really going on. He shattered the glass in front of him, the thing that he had fought so hard for spilled out across the pavement until fists were thrown again. This time, Dean was the one throwing fists, for the first time in his life.

He always took the hits, but never dealt them. He always put up with his father’s drunken abuses and never fought back. Maybe it was the extra testosterone that finally brought him to fight back, to throw the first punch. Of course, it wasn’t enough to give him the raw strength to win in a fight, not yet, anyway. 

John knocked him out cold - had never done that before. 

He woke the next morning with a pounding headache and a bandage over his forehead, covering the gash that found its place there from the fall onto the asphalt in the parking lot. He’d woken to nothing but the keys to the Impala and a note with a few scribbled words. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing he hadn’t seen before.

_Gone on a hunting trip._

And the rest, he supposed, was history. He forged his prescription and started back on his hormones, and three weeks had passed before he tracked down Sammy. They went back to the routines, to saving people and hunting things, back into the family business. Years passed, Dad died, life was crisis after crisis and apocalypse after apocalypse, but it was more or less normal. 

There were tentative one night stands, all with girls, still repressing that part of him made up of lingering gazes toward men and secret desires burning up inside of him. Sex was always complicated, always a scary thing to initiate, but he got around well enough. With the lights off, Dean could sometimes even get away with using a prosthetic without even having to disclose that he was trans. But no matter what he did, the night always ended with him leaving before the sun rose again. 

It wasn’t until he met Cas that he ever entertained the idea of sex with another man. 

It took him years to accept it, took him years to allow himself over to temptations and desires. Of course, it hadn’t taken him that long to want it. He’d wanted it since he’d seen the shadow of wings and cold blue eyes stare him down for the first time. But it took him years to acknowledge those feelings, and even longer to act upon them. But when he did, when he did, god, had it been worth it. 

There had been so many opportunities for him, so many chances for him to steal kisses away from him, so many times when he had wanted to claim his lips. He should’ve kissed him when he came back after Sam had fallen into the cage. He should’ve kissed him after he rose again from the dead after the Leviathans took him over. He should’ve kissed him after Purgatory, or after he snapped out of Naomi’s control, or after he was made human again after the demon was burned out of him, or after Lucifer fled his vessel and he was Cas again, or when Jack called him back from the Empty, or some thousand other times. 

But he didn’t. Instead, it was after some ordinary hunt. Couldn’t even really remember what at this point. He couldn’t remember if it had been a haunting or a poltergeist or a banshee, but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. All he remembered was that, at one point, he’d been thrown back against a mirror that left him with bloody marks all down his back. 

It hadn’t been far from the bunker. Sam took care of the rest, torched the thing, and drove Dean home. He’d laid face-down in the back seat, shirt gone and bloody shards of glass still poking out of his flesh, every bump in the road adding to his misery. He let the whiskey take him down, chugging the bottle they kept in the backseat, but it hadn’t done much. 

It was Cas that cleaned him up. Cas that wiped away the blood, Cas that took care of him, Cas that took the shards out and healed his wounds at a touch. Sam had offered to take care of it, but Cas had insisted. 

He’d caught those blue eyes again, and couldn’t help himself any longer. It was impulsive, mostly, without much forethought as it happened. He thanked him quickly, breath mingling with the angel’s, chests rising and falling together, and Dean grabbed him by the tie. He pulled him close, claimed his lips, over and over and over again. 

There was a secret room in the bunker that Dean had come across a few months before. Nothing particularly special, just another room with a few dozen books lining the shelves, and an overstuffed sofa, and a fireplace. He pulled Cas inside, lighting a fire and laying him out across the rug in front of it. They lay all night, exchanging soft kisses and whispered confessions of love, hidden away and suppressed for too many years. 

Dean would’ve preferred to have made love there for the first time, on that very first night. He would’ve gladly opened his legs, let Castiel sink in between them, to make slow love right on the floor. He was sure that they could’ve gone on for hours like that, in slow, lazy thrusts and open-mouth kisses. 

Dean had kept himself occupied with the thoughts and the what-ifs, the things that could’ve come from that night and never did. But nothing did, not beyond soft kisses and grasping fingers. And at the end of the day, Dean had been content with that. 

The months passed with nothing more than that, until one day, they did. A shared intimacy, Cas’ first orgasm, post-almost-coitus cuddling. And as the weeks went on, they kept it going. More intimate moments shared, more post-almost-coitus cuddling, but never actually getting any further than that. 

Not that Dean was complaining. The moments that they shared were enough to satisfy him for the moment, the sight alone enough to fuel solo jerk-off sessions and wet dreams for the next millennia. But he didn’t want to wait that long. Cas may have been as good as immortal, but Dean was still human, and they didn’t have centuries to wait. 

Someone had to make the first move.

~~~

Cas didn’t need to sleep, but he did lay in bed with Dean at night. Almost asleep, almost dreaming. Almost human enough to feel the dark taking him under.

It was an almost catatonic state, Cas had described it. In that hazy place between awake and asleep, only half conscious and half aware. He could understand where he was, was aware of Dean’s sleeping form next to him, but he lay in a sort of haze. Cas had described it as being distinctly pleasant, calmer than he ever was otherwise. It allowed his mind to rest, and his vessel to sleep. 

And with this, his body tended to do most of the things that human bodies did during sleep. He relaxed, and sometimes tossed and turned, shifted into weird positions until he found something comfortable. And, of course, he got hard. 

It wasn’t until after they started fooling around that this started happening. He remembered the first time Castiel had noticed the erection between his thighs with the first rays of sun, and had immediately apologized. He couldn’t quite explain why he had become so suddenly aroused, without stimulation or provocation. It earned a laugh from Dean, and a guiding hand, Cas’ hand pulled down beneath his boxers to show that his own growth was hard too. Just something that happened. 

And this morning, Cas was naked and hard against his belly. Hard and leaking and twitching and half asleep, and Dean found himself mesmerized at the sight of him, only half awake himself. The only thoughts that managed to form in his sleep-grogged brain was that Castiel was beautiful, and he was hard. 

Dean rolled himself over, pulling himself half on top of him. It was somewhat awkward positioning, neither fully awake and both half horny, but he made it work. He positioned himself against Cas’ cock, situating his shaft between his lips, t-cock pressed up against the twitching flesh. He wasn’t quite inside, wasn’t actually sheathed inside of his body, but it was close enough. Something more intimate than what they’d previously done. 

Castiel was pulled from his something-like-sleep to find Dean sprawled out on top of him, though that was not the first thing that he was called to notice. 

He first noticed the near-uncontrollable urge to begin thrusting, to allow his vessel’s biological impulses to take him over and to push up into the damp heat that encased his length. It took him a moment longer to realize that it was the cup of Dean’s sex pulled around him that was bringing such pleasures, such desires, such needs. 

“Dean,” Cas groaned softly, eyes still not yet open. 

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean said sleepily, head leaning against the angel’s chest as his hips began to set a soft pace, just barely thrusting, just barely rubbing up and down his shaft. 

“Feels good,” he breathed, voice coming just over a whisper as his fingers found Dean’s hair, spurring him on. _“Dean…”_

Dean buried his face into the crook of Cas’ neck, clinging tight to him as his hips began to move in longer strokes, rolling up against him. He felt himself beginning to leak again, as though his body was preparing for penetration, aching to be filled by the cock he was grinding himself against. 

The fluid smearing down the underside of his cock made it all the more intense. Dean’s frantic grinding, thrusting himself up against his shaft, growing wet at his touch, it was enough to bring them both to the edge. There was no way in hell this was going to last long. 

They didn’t speak except in quiet moans and heaving breaths. They spoke in open-mouthed kisses and the desperate cling of fingers. Bruises like constellations across Cas’ shoulders blossomed beneath his fingertips, his grip tightening as he felt a tightening and a tingling in his belly. Teeth followed suit, biting down his pleasure as Cas’ hands trailed down his back, guiding his thrusts and grinds, forcing him to slow down. 

Dean understood what those hands meant immediately. _Slower. You’re gonna finish in three seconds like that._

Cas had gotten better at drawing it out, at keeping himself from coming the second his hand met his cock, but he still didn’t have so much control that he could keep going like that. Even seasoned professionals wouldn’t be able to keep up with that for too long. Dean obeyed, catching his breath and letting his hips in long movements. He didn’t want this to end too fast. 

Castiel let out a low sigh as Dean slowed against him, moving in long, silky glides. Dean was wet, the fluid smearing down his shaft, the glide soft and smooth and blindingly good. He allowed Dean to have control over the situation, to set the pace and the rhythm, allowing himself to be taken along for the ride as he buried his face into Dean’s shoulder. 

His fingers traced circles into Cas’ chest, touching him softly, gently. It was almost innocent from the waist up, though the waist down was a little more obscene. Cas was leaking pre-cum over the both of them, spreading clear and tacky against flesh. The smear of Dean’s own fluids made quite the mess too, moisture gathering between their legs. The movements were subtle, slow and soft, but it was still quite obvious what they were doing. 

It wasn’t necessarily intentional, the burgeonings of Cas’ thrusts up into him, up against him. It was as though his vessel was dictating it, like there was some residual memory of how this was meant to be done from when Jimmy Novak had inhabited this body. Cas tightened his arms around Dean’s shoulders, fingers tugging through short hair as he rolled his hips up, pushing back into the soft, damp heat above him. 

Dean sighed as Cas set a complimentary rhythm, hips rolling up to meet his thrusts. He let out a soft whine, burying his face deeper into the crook of his neck, clinging tighter to him as the pleasure ripped through him. It felt like when he edged himself, drawing himself close to the brink, but knowing that this could go on for hours before it would actually be enough to make him come. He wondered if this was how they were going to spend their morning, and if it might stretch into the afternoon. Necking and grinding and whimpering, pleasure pulsing through them, but never quite making it to completion. Dean would’ve been content with that. 

The rub and glide of Cas’ cock against him pulled his attention, focusing on the feeling of him thrusting up between the sensitive pink flesh. The slick head of his cock rubbed up against Dean’s, leaving him shuddering and whimpering into his shoulder. Dean half wondered what it would feel like once Cas was actually sheathed inside of him, cock pressed into him, moving in slow, lazy thrusts… 

He let out a soft whine at the thought. That was going to have to come sooner rather than later, he decided. 

“A little faster, baby,” Dean whispered. He wanted to make this last as long as he could, but he knew that it would quickly become torture if they played for too long. “Oh, god, you feel so good, Cas, please…” 

Cas obeyed, and thrusting hips picked up a more fervent pace, both necking and grinding with the express purpose of coming. The only noises to fill the room were quiet pants and grunts, the occasional whine pulled up from their throats, and the wet sound of skin against skin. A little softer than their usual routines, a little quieter, but damn, if it wasn’t already a hell of a lot more fun. 

The pleasure concentrated in his cock spread throughout the entirety of him, spilling warm through his body as the pressure began to build and he approached climax. Dean bit down into Cas’ shoulder as he shuddered and came, release flooding through him like a goddamn tidal wave. He felt himself twitch and flutter between his legs, and he knew that Cas’ could feel it too, because a moment later, he was coming in hot, white stripes between their chests. 

_“Dean,”_ Cas moaned out his name as he came, like he always did. That tended to be the only thing that ever came out of his mouth when they fooled around. He didn’t talk dirty, didn’t ask questions, didn’t say much at all. It was as though he forgot every other word in the english language, and all that was left was his name. 

They shuddered and fell, muscles relaxing as they fell against each other, half asleep in the early morning sunlight through a small, dirty window in the top corner of their room. Dean lay sleepily against his chest, not bothering to move as the cum dried between them and the slickness produced between his legs grew dry and tacky against their softening cocks. It was messy and half uncomfortable, but Dean was more than content to lay there against him, and Castiel was more than content with the weight of him against his chest. 

“That was…” Dean started, unsure of how to finish that sentence. There were too many words to describe it, and none at the same time. 

“Unexpected?” Cas offered, turning to meet his eyes with a small smile. Cas didn’t smile often enough, Dean decided, and he needed to get him to smile a little more often. 

“Just unexpected?” he tested. The cum smeared sticky between them was evidence enough that it had been a little more than just unexpected, but he wanted to hear him say it. 

“No,” he said, his hand drifting down his back. He smiled softly, unsure of where to begin in descriptions. Pleasures of heaven served hotter than hell, divine and sinful all at once. But such words couldn’t find their way to his tongue, and he was left with barely coherent sentences and simple words. “It was good. It felt good. It was… It was really good, Dean.” 

Dean smiled up at him, stealing a kiss from him. He could get used to these kinds of mornings. Waking up, rolling over, starting the day with shared pleasure before going to shower together. It was something worth getting up to. Something a little more convincing than monsters and hunting trips. A nicer way to start the day. 

“Next time,” Dean began. “I want you inside me.”

~~~

The angel that fell in love with humanity. The angel that fell in love with mankind. The angel that fell in love with a man.

He couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment he began to call it love. There were a series of moments pressed back into the back of his mind, refusing to be acknowledged, refusing to be allowed toward the forefront of his mind. He could never let it be called love. Love was admitting to emotion. Love was admitting to weakness. 

His eternity had been spent as heaven’s faithful soldier, sent wherever the lord would have him, though this almighty was never more than the angel higher up. He did not question and did not fight his purpose. He knew what he was meant for. He knew what needed to be done. He knew what was needed of him. 

Centuries upon centuries were spent that way. He took vessels when it was needed of him, marched like the good soldier that he was, never once questioning his place. He did not feel, always above such human things as emotions. He did not stray from his place, did not fall out of line, did not make a move that was not ordered. This had served him well once, had led him through the ranks of the Heaven’s Host. Once, he had been captain of his garrison, ranking high enough to be sent to save the vessel of the righteous man from the depths of hell. He had served well. 

And then came Dean Winchester. 

It was his empathy that made him a risk, his empathy that left him cut off from heaven’s gates. It was his affection for the Winchester boy that drew him to rebel, to go rogue, to be ostracized and outcast from heaven. The fallen soldier, the fallen angel, the fallen man. 

But it had always been worth it. For the sake of Dean Winchester, it was worth it. For the sake of the feelings stirred up within him, for the sake of the things that made him more human, for the sake of the love that burned in his chest when his eyes met Dean’s, it was worth every moment. 

Nothing else quite mattered. Heavens above and hells below could not stop the things that he felt, could not silence the voices that called for him, the part of him that yearned. There had been something burning up within him, begging to feel him, to take him, to allow himself to succumb to sin. He would fight for him, stay by his side, rebel against the very heavens for his sake, die for him should it be demanded. 

But he knew better. He knew the way that Dean looked at girls, and the way that he liked to bring them back to the motels, and the way that he always proclaimed himself as a proud unattached drifter. He knew how Dean insisted that it was the safer lifestyle. Safer to never truly love than to allow someone in close enough to get hurt. It was easier to get your rocks off and leave before morning came round again than to lose someone potentially worth loving. 

So he suppressed it, resolved to call him friend, resolved to call him family, resolved to call him brother. And he had been happy, happy just to be around him. Even when it pained him to catch him flirting with someone else, even when it pained him to lose him. He was joyous even in his agony. 

And then Dean reciprocated. 

And then Dean pulled him close and damned the consequences, alleviating every ache that had ever blossomed within the cavity of his chest. And for the first time, the only savior he needed stood right before him. No god to deliver him from his sins, no heaven above to redeem him of his sins, none of those seemed to matter in the moment that Dean pulled him close and kissed him for the first time. Even if it damned him to rot for eternity in hell, it would be worth it. This was the only savior that he needed. 

He had become more human than angel in his time spent with the Winchesters. Sin no longer seemed so unappealing, rebellion came natural. And, with such a simple gestures as lips brushing against lips, fingers pulled through hair, what was left of the divine fled his vessel and he was nothing more than flesh and blood and bone and human. 

Dean Winchester had made a rebel out of him, had made a martyr out of him, had made something so distant from what he had once been. No longer beneath heaven’s control, but beneath his own, free to make his own choices and his own decisions, no matter how terrible they may have been. He was free to rebel against the creator, to damn heaven and save the world. He was free to feel, free to adore humanity in its whole, free to feel love for mankind, and for one man. 

And it was worth it. All he had given up, every mistake made, every death brought by his own hand, every death brought to him, every time he had been resurrected by the hand of god, it had been worth it for the sake of his freedom. And for the sake of his love. 

So, he supposed, he was more human than anything else these days. Powers of heaven retained in his bones, though his grace was weak and his powers were not what they had once been. His wings were black and his feathers had molted, broken shells of what they might have once been. But what remained of his soul was human. He felt deeply, and intensely, and clung to that emotion with all that was in him, savored it all. The pain, the joy, the guilt, and ecstasy, the mourning, the lust and longing… He clung to it, because to feel too much was better than to feel nothing at all.

But he savored the love that he felt most of all.

The love he felt for mankind, the love that he felt for humanity as he became more like them. The love that he felt for his makeshift family, made up of Sam and Charlie and Bobby and Mary and Jack and Rowena. The love that he had grown to feel even for himself. But, perhaps most of all, the love that he had grown to feel for Dean Winchester. Not even heaven could draw him away from that. Not even heaven could be better. And if he was cast down into hell, it would still have been worth it.

~~~

“Hello, Dean.”

At this point, he was too exhausted to even be startled when Castiel slipped into his room. He didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear him come in, but there he was, standing at the edge of the bed. 

Dean had collapsed spread-eagle across their shared bed the moment he’d gotten home, kicking out of his clothes until he was in nothing but a pair of boxers that probably needed washed. Another day, another hunt, another twelve hour drive. Nothing too fascinating - just some local hotspot in Maine, some old abandoned asylum where some kid had gotten strung up and killed. Nothing overly interesting. 

Though, at this point, he just wanted to sleep. He wanted to collapse and fall into a coma for the next three days, as he usually did after a hunt. Though, this time, his body felt a little heavier than it usually did. A little more tired, a little weaker… 

_Fuck. Due for a shot._

“You’re due for your testosterone injection,” Cas said as soon as he thought it, drawing a low groan from Dean’s chest. All he wanted to do was sleep, already comfortable, but he was already a day late. He couldn’t afford another day missed. He rolled himself over onto his back, gazing up toward the angel. 

“You wanna give me my shot, baby?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows. 

Castiel replied with a curt nod, not needing much more. 

“You know where it’s at. You know how to set everything up?” Dean confirmed. Of course he knew, he had watched Dean do it a dozen times, but he decided to make sure anyway. 

“I know how to do it,” Cas said, pulling out the syringe and his hormones. Dean leaned back, struggling to keep himself from falling asleep. Something between the lack of sleep and the hunt and the fact that he was due for a shot left him barely clinging to consciousness. Slipping in and out of it. 

He didn’t rouse again until he felt the needle going into his thigh. It was a familiar sting, a familiar pain, the only kind of pain that was ever really welcome. He let out a soft hiss as Cas injected it and pulled out, covering the place with a bandaid, as easy as if he’d been doing it for years. Dean gave a small smile, propping himself up, pulling him into sitting position, already feeling a little better as the hormones entered his system. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean sighed, a hand reaching out to grab his tie, pull him in closer. A kiss stolen as blue met green and Dean found his lips wandering to meet his angel’s, pulling him tighter into him, kiss hazy and soft against his mouth. 

He hadn’t meant for it to happen. 

He mostly just wanted to go to sleep, but something overpowered him as lazy kisses deepened, and Cas’ hands began to grasp at his hips, pulling him in closer. He felt his cock twitch curiously between his thighs, aching for something between them. Aching for something inside. 

“Makin’ me horny, Cas,” he sighed, hand curling around Cas’ wrist and guiding it down between his thighs, pressing against his boxers, allowing him to feel at his cock. 

“You should rest,” Cas began, noting how tired he had been just minutes before, though not outright denying him. “You’ve not slept, and-” 

“Just shut up and fuck me, Cas,” Dean chuckled, pulling him down to meet his lips again. 

He wanted it, and he wanted it now. Sleepy, and soft, and warm, he wanted it. He wanted something gentle something warm, something kind, something to ease him toward sleep. Something that would maybe silence the nightmares for once, something that would finally bring them together and make them whole. 

He pulled his legs apart, tugging them around Cas’ waist as he pulled the angel overtop of him. Soft and sleepy kisses deepened into something more, something hungrier, something all-desiring. Dean’s fingers worked at his tie, loosening it, pulling it even more crooked than what it already was. He wanted it off, wanted everything off. He wanted everything, wanted to feel everything, wanted every inch of flesh, wanted every part of him devoured. 

“Are you certain, Dean? We can…” Cas started, words coming between kisses, knowing full well where this was going but wanting to know with absolute certainty. 

“I want you, Cas. I want all of you,” he breathed, keening up against him, up into him, demanding all of him. Demanding to feel, demanding to be taken. 

Cas’ breathing hitched. It was going to happen, and it was going to happen now. He gulped down hard, and nodded. 

Dean stripped him of his clothes slowly, without words, lips hardly parting. It was slow, and it was soft, and it was sweet, and it was hazy, and it was tired, and it was warm. All things that Dean was not, all things that he had never been before Cas. Life before Cas had been yelling, and loud, and pain, and fucking for the sake of being dragged from his own consciousness and into that of another. Sex was vapid and rough, never anything other than a one night stand, fucking some girl and then gone the next day. He never let anyone else inside of him, not for a second, rarely even allowing anyone to touch him without a prosthetic. But this… This was different. 

This was soft. This was sleepy, with lazy, open-mouthed kisses and tentatively placed hands, careful in what ways he touched but eagerly invited inside. He could feel Cas getting hard against him as he worked open his belt, could feel him twitch against his palm as he freed his length and tugged down the angel’s pants. He swallowed every one of of Cas’ quiet little moans as he stroked his length, guiding it in between his legs to rub softly against the cotton of his boxers, allowing him to feel at the damp heat gathering there… 

“I need you to work me open, alright?” Dean instructed softly. “I haven’t actually… I haven’t actually used this hole. You’re gonna have to… Well, pop the cherry, I guess.” 

It felt weird to think about, having never been penetrated beyond a couple of curious fingers. He’d never allowed himself to have sex with another man before this, and rarely let girls touch him anywhere below the packer. This was… This was new. But it was welcome. It was wanted. It was needed. 

“The hymen isn’t actually something that’s popped. It’s a thin membrane that circles the opening to the vaginal canal, but it’s common misconception that it covers it in its entirety. It doesn’t. There’s nothing to be ‘popped’, exactly, and-” Castiel began, not quite understanding the expression. Wanting to make sure that Dean knew his own anatomy. 

“I know, Cas, it’s a figure of speech,” Dean chuckled, claiming his lips again for another moment, a quick peck before meeting his eyes again, a small laugh carrying in his voice. “And never call it a ‘vaginal canal’ again, Jesus Christ, that’s a dysphoria shit show waiting to happen. Besides, that’s just too goddamn formal. If we’re talking about me, it’s just a front hole. Okay?” 

Castiel felt the heat rush to his face as he nodded. He hadn’t meant to make Dean uncomfortable, but he supposed, looking back, he understood why it might. He knew how such simple things as language could pull the trigger like a gun, leading to dysphoria, even years after transitioning. Dean had described it as feeling like being trapped in clothes that didn’t fit right, didn’t feel right, clothes that you wanted to claw out of but couldn’t. They could be adjusted, hemmed and sewn to fit a little better, a little easier, but one wrong move and all the seams could tear. He didn’t want to rip the seams. 

“It’s okay, you’re alright,” Dean assured, stealing another kiss from him. “C’mon, let’s keep going.” 

Castiel smiled as another kiss was stolen, and another, and another, as they moved together, grinding and moving through his boxers. Cas found himself grinding up into the damp cotton, aching for what lay just beneath. 

“Help me out of these,” Dean guided as he struggled to kick out of his boxers. Castiel’s hands slipped beneath the elastic, lips parting for only a moment to watch as the boxers came off and they were both bare and exposed before each other, more vulnerable and exposed than they had ever been before. 

They’d been naked together plenty, sure. They came pretty damn close to sex, slept naked together on most nights. But this felt more raw, more exposed, more vulnerable with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Still, Dean adjusted to this bare vulnerability and welcomed it, allowed it to infiltrate the space in between them. It was okay. He wanted it. He wanted this. 

“How do I… May I…” Cas trailed off, unsure of where he was even going with this. What was he to ask? How was he to ask it? He had hardly even touched Dean there, only grinding up into the damp heat offered to him. He hadn’t penetrated him before, no one had, and… 

“C’mere,” Dean said, reaching for his hand and guiding it down, determined to teach him, and determined to learn himself. It wasn’t like he had any more experience than Cas in this. It was a learning experience to be shared. 

Dean sighed as he pressed the palm of Cas’ hand against his growth, guiding him to rub in circles, drawing a moan from Dean’s lips. They didn’t exactly keep lube too particularly well-stocked, and Dean was going to have to rely on his own body to slick him up this time. No better way than to get him worked up, he supposed. Besides, it never too him long to get wet for Cas. 

Castiel let out a gasp at the first contact, his hand pressed bare against Dean’s most intimate place. His cock throbbed against his hand, hardening against his palm as the wetness gathered further down, at the opening of his hole. There was something more intimate in this, touching with fingers rather than just grinding and necking up into it. Fingers and hands, to see it with his eyes, there was something deeply intimate in touching him in this way. 

He froze, waiting for Dean’s instruction, content to cup and rub beneath Dean’s guiding hand. But Dean stilled, silently gesturing for him to take over, and Castiel hesitantly obeyed, fingers moving just over his twitching cock, stroking him softly before slowly dipping down further, venturing toward his hole. 

Dean let out a small, encouraging moan as Cas’ curious fingers begin to move to spread his folds, softly parting him open. Dean let out a quiet gasp as his finger began to tease at the place around his front hole, circling his opening before allowing one to dip just inside before pulling away, gentle and hesitant and slow and careful and fuck. 

“C’mon, baby, you can go a little faster than that,” Dean said with a small smile, hands grazing over his arms, capturing his eyes. Quiet gestures always calmed him down, pulled him out of his own head, drew the angel back down to earth. He smiled as Cas pushed inside, letting out a sharp gasp as one finger pushed in deep and withdrew, setting a more solid pace, spreading him open and preparing him to take his cock. 

Castiel watched the rise and fall of Dean’s chest as his breathing picked up pace and small moans were drawn from his chest. Two scars lined his chest, jagged and a little crooked, done not by the hand of a surgeon, but of a hunter. His eyes fell closed as Cas set a steady pace, slowly adding a second finger as he adjusted to the first. Castiel savored in the soft groans that tumbled from Dean’s lips, occasionally swallowing them in kisses. 

Cas was soft and he was warm and he was gentle with him in a way that no one had ever been gentle with him. All the love that he had known before had come hard and fast, in the form of rough sex and rough beatings. Even the love that he cherished most, from Sammy and from Bobby and from Jack and from his mom, had never been so reverent as it was now. All the years that he had spent on bended knee in worship and reverence to a god that hardly cared had prepared him for the only god that he actually cared to worship. And he would worship Dean Winchester with his dying breath. 

Dean pulled him close, curling his legs tighter around his waist as he pushed in a third finger. He couldn’t recall ever getting this wet, even before he’d gone on testosterone. He was open enough, slick enough, more than ready for what was to come next. He needed what was coming next. 

“I’m ready, Cas,” he murmured, breathing it like a prayer. “I’m ready.” 

Castiel didn’t bother with preambles, didn’t bother to keep him waiting. His own erection throbbed painfully, drawing him in close as he pulled between Dean’s thighs, lining himself up with his hole. Cas let out a shuddered sigh as he felt Dean’s muscles flutter and contract against the head of his cock, beckoning him in deeper. He glanced down between them, so intimately close, so close to consummation, it could have brought him to his knees. This was the closest that he had been to heaven in years. 

And then there was Dean, calling his eyes back with the utterance of one word. Dean, calling him back to the reality laid out on flannel sheets before him. Dean, bringing him back down from his self-proclaimed heaven and back to the earth with one murmured word. 

“Baby,” Dean breathed. 

One word was all it took for Castiel to come back to himself, rather than pondering the great wonders that he had beheld in his lifetime, and how none would ever compare to this moment. One word was all that it took to bring him back down to the earth that he had sacrificed everything for, bringing him back into the present moment. One word was all that it took to bring him back into his own flesh and remember what he was meant to be doing. One word was enough to push him inside. 

“Dean,” he said, voice soft as he leaned down to claim his lips as he pushed. 

Dean’s breath hitched, lungs failing in his chest at the intrusion. His eyes clenched tight, fingers curling hard against Cas’ shoulders as the angel bottomed out inside of him. His mouth fell open, a soft moan escaping his lips as he savored the feeling of being so completely and entirely filled. 

Castiel stilled inside of him, pausing to catch his breath, fearing that he may prematurely come if he dared to start moving. Instead, he clung to Dean, holding himself stilled within his body, savoring the tight warmth that surrounded him. Breaths rose and fell in time, arms curled tightly around each other, clinging as though clinging for dear life, so intricately intertwined that the one could not be separated from the other. 

Such consummations lit emotion on fire within the angel’s chest. Life had stretched into the millennia, and even still, he had never quite experienced emotion on such a level. Everything that they had been through had been leading up to this moment, and every emotion felt since the moment he’d laid his hand upon Dean within the depths of hell came swelling in his lungs. The wrath of heaven and the pleasures of sin and the bittersweet taste of rebellion and the burgeonings of empathy and the symphonies of Dean’s laughter in his ears and love. Above all else, love. 

Such feelings overcame him, and the tears began to fall. He buried his face into the crook of Dean’s shoulder, ragged sobs wracked from his chest. He could not recall a time when he had let tears flow so unrestrained, could not recall a time when he had ever cried with joy, could not recall a time when he had felt so deeply and so entirely. 

Dean didn’t question his tears. Instead, he welcomed them, fingers pushed through dark hair and lips pressed against his neck, allowing time to be taken to adjust, fighting back tears of his own. Emotions reached highs never met before, and Dean could have died a happy man having experienced them so fully. Symphonies rang in his ears and lights danced across his eyelids as he took Cas inside of him, the two conjoined in glorious consummation. 

It wasn’t until he opened his eyes again that the tears actually began to fall. 

Dean had cried during sex once. The night he had lost his virginity, tears came the moment her face fell between his legs, silently sobbing into the crook of his elbow. Tears of overwhelmed him, burning hot and staining his skin and her pillows until she rose from beneath the covers, pain wracking in his chest at the sight of his own naked form. And now tears fell again in the loss of a different type of virginity, tears falling fresh again at the sight that stood above him. 

They were black, tucked down against his back, softly framing his shoulders. They looked thinner than he had imagined, as though the feathers had fallen off and were growing back slowly. They didn’t look exactly majestic, a little bent in places, but they were beautiful all the same. Beautiful enough to draw him to tears falling softly as he stared up through blurry eyes. 

_Wings._

“Cas,” Dean said, arms pulled away from his neck and toward the fluttering wings above him. Fingers brushed against black feathers, soft as silk between them, drawing a sharp gasp from Castiel’s lips. His trembling stilled, entire body rigid, not quite expecting the feeling, as though it had been quite some time since he had been touched there, if ever. Dean’s breathing slowed, fingers running through his feathers slowly, gently, certain not to pull too hard. “Cas, I… I can see your wings.”

That much was obvious. Castiel couldn’t bring words to his lips, unsure of what to do or say or think. Humans were not meant to be able to lay eyes on his wings, shown only through shadows dancing across the wall. Their wings were not meant to be touched, and yet Dean’s fingers were raking through his feathers in awestruck wonder. His mind blanked, chest heaving as he fell harder against Dean, hardly able to keep himself upright. All that he knew was that Dean was running his fingers through his feathers, brushing lightly against his wings, and that it felt _good._

Thoughts ceased to come, frozen and stuck on the words. Transcendent, such an experience could only be described as such. 

He inhaled sharply, and allowed his vessel to take him over, allowed his body to work from the memory of a different life. His hips began to thrust, moving inside of Dean’s body, setting a steady pace as he buried himself into the crook of Dean’s neck, trembling as he moved. Dean’s fingers remained where they were, circles pressed into the expanse of his wings, massaging lightly into them as choked whines escaped from the angel’s throat. 

Dean’s breath hitched as he began to move, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him with each thrust of his hips. He moved in slow, lazy rolls, sleepy and easy and gentle with him. It was lovemaking in its truest form, love and adoration spoken in the movements between them. He let out a quiet sigh, hands grasping at feathers as Castiel made gentle love to him, tears welled in his eyes as the gravity of this glorious consummation settled against his chest. 

Castiel couldn’t bring the words to his lips. He wanted speak, wanted to tell Dean all the things that he felt, but the words wouldn’t come. So, instead, he opted to show him. He clung tight to Dean, holding onto him for dear life as he set a faster pace, savoring in the tight warmth around him. Dean’s body, open and eager and soft and fluttering around him, pulling him in deeper. Dean’s fingers pressing against wings previously untouched by anyone but himself. Emotions running high enough to bring him to tears. It was beautiful, and overwhelming enough to leave him speechless. 

Dean trembled at the feeling of Cas moving inside of him, overcome with sensation. Pleasure pulsed through him as Cas’ cock thrust up into him, rubbing against the tip of his t-cock with every thrust inside. He pressed insistently against the sweet spot just inside of him, previously untouched. His hands grasped at wings and shoulders to steady himself, his legs crossing tight around his waist, beckoning him in deeper, praying that this might go on for eternity. 

“They’re beautiful, Cas,” Dean murmured, voice soft and reverent as his hands pushed through his feathers. He pressed kisses down his neck, clinging to him with all reverence as he moved inside of him. “You’re so beautiful.” 

Dean buried his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck, eyes finally tearing away from the wings above him. He clung tightly as Castiel pushed up into him, moans and cries drawn unrestrained from his lips. He hadn’t expected being filled in this way to feel so good, to feel so intensely miraculous that it would bring him closer to heaven. 

Castiel claimed his mouth again as he pushed his wings out, allowing them to encase the two of them between them. The feathers were thinned and had turned black in his fall, but he still had enough to wrap a cocoon around them in such intimate moments. Warm and soft against flesh, drawing them tighter together as Castiel made reverent love to the man beneath him. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed, voice trembling as Castiel delivered another thrust into his body. Tears flowed unrestrained, despite his own reservations when it came to showing such emotion. He couldn’t keep them back, encased in his angel’s love, filled with it, surrounded by it. “I love you, Cas, baby, I love you.” 

Dean rarely said those words. Neither figured that they needed saying too often, both of them already knowing how the other felt. Love was expressed in good morning kisses, and in fights fought to protect the other, and in hands held during long car rides. They hardly needed words to show it, but his confessions tumbled from his lips as he drew close to his climax. 

“I love you too, Dean,” Castiel whimpered, his thrusts growing more uneven as he approached his orgasm, unable to restrain himself much longer. The twitch and flutter of Dean’s hole around him, the moans drawn from his lips, the tidal wave of emotion pulled over him, he couldn’t last much longer. He pulled arms and wings tighter around Dean, clinging to him as he redoubled his efforts, burying himself deep inside as his balls drew tight against him, threatening to spill at any moment. 

Dean’s breathing grew uneven, feeling his orgasm swell within him, edging ever nearer to the moment when it all came spilling over. Heaving breaths turned to ragged moans, broken and unrestrained as Castiel came hot inside of him, the damp heat spreading through him being what finally pulled him over the edge. Tumbling down, down, down as he came with a shout, cock twitching hard and hole fluttering and throbbing around Cas’ twitching length. 

Castiel fell limp over top of his lover, wings falling to blanket the two of them. His bones gave way and his vessel fell heavy, luring him in toward a sleep that could never fully come. Tears continued to fall, spreading damp across the pillow as his shoulders heaved and shook. No one had ever made him feel so completely, so entirely, so filled to the brim where he feared he may overflow at any moment. 

Dean kept his legs crossed behind his waist for a long time after it ended, even as their cocks both softened and the heat faded. He wanted Castiel inside of him for as long as they both could stand, wanted to see him in all his glory until his mortal eyes could no longer bear the sight. 

Fingers reached up hazily, mind clouded with fog as he reached out to touch at the hiding place Castiel had made out of his wings. Their safe place, their haven, their little place carved out of heaven brought down to earth. He smiled softly and pressed a kiss just below Cas’ ear as they lay chest to chest, breaths heaving, flesh flushed hot and damp with sweat. Damn the heavens above. Heaven was a place under the sun. Heaven was wherever Castiel happened to be.

~~~

“Can you still see them?” Castiel asked softly, sat at the edge of the bed, pulled away from Dean at last. It wasn’t until they were both squirming with oversensitivity that Dean let him go, reaching into the dresser of his nightstand for a cigarette to replace his skin between his lips. He watched as Dean raised the lighter to his lips, taking in a long drag before exhaling, the smoke gathering in the air around him before filling the room with a sort of smoky haze. 

“Kinda,” Dean said, drawing the cigarette back between his teeth. His eyes hadn’t left Castiel, mesmerized by him more than ever. It was new, seeing in him in all of his winged glory. He’d seen glimpses, shadows, but never his wings in full-feathered glory. He couldn’t pull his eyes away, even as they began to fade from view. More like a hazy hallucination than solid reality now. 

Castiel paused, and nodded. There was a beat of silence, comfortable and quiet, neither of them able to find much to say, heads too fogged with sex and hormones, sleepy and happy chemicals rattling in their skulls. Neither quite needed words as they sat, Castiel’s fingers tracing circles against Dean’s legs and Dean’s heavy-lidded eyes clinging to his wings as they faded from view. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Castiel finally said, breaking the silence.

“I don’t usually,” Dean replied, taking another long drag, allowing it to burn in his lungs for just a moment before exhaling. “Two times when I smoke. After a bad hunt - which, at this point, the threshold is pretty high for what is considered _bad_ \- and after good sex.”

Castiel turned back to him and smiled a soft sort of smile, bashful and warm and fucking beautiful. “It was good?” 

Dean let out a small huff of laughter. They both knew that it had been good, no denying it at this point, but Dean was pretty sure that Cas just wanted to hear him say it. Verbal confirmation or an ego boost, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t quite sure that it mattered either. “Best I’ve ever had.” 

Castiel smiled, turning away from him as he did. Dean, cigarette still hanging from between his lips, scooted down toward the edge of the bed, positioning himself just behind his angel. He pulled himself just between his wings, chest pressed against the place between his shoulder blades, one arm curled around his waist and head propped against his shoulder. His free hand lingered around his wings, just barely able to feel them anymore, like ghosts of what had been so solid before, just barely there and fading quickly. 

“They’re so fucking beautiful, Cas,” he murmured, watching as they faded from his sight completely. A sight reserved for times when Castiel was sheathed inside of him, the two conjoined in body and soul, so it seemed. Even still, he cherished it while he had it. He reached up, pulling the cigarette from between his teeth and pressing a small kiss against his shoulder. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

Castiel sighed, mind wandering somewhere further away. He had long been ashamed of the wings that lay mounted against his back. Years of abuse and sins and crimes against heaven had caused them to turn black, had caused them to molt, had clipped them and rendered them useless. They were healing, slowly, feathers slowly growing back in, though they stayed their ugly black. But it could take centuries before they returned to their former glory, if they ever did. Dean wouldn’t live to see them that way. 

“They’re ugly now,” Castiel sighed, leaning back against his touch as his wings returned to a sort of numbness, no longer able to feel Dean’s fingers brushing against them. “They used to be beautiful, once. White, and bigger than what they are now. Not as broken or thinned. Even after I returned from dragging you out of hell, they had turned gold. No longer pure, but still something that could be considered almost beautiful. When I rebelled, though, they started turning black. Just a little at first, but by the time Lucifer killed me and I was brought back… Well, I was fallen. Excommunicated from heaven. Rogue angel. Now they’re just… black.” 

Dean drew the cigarette to his lips again, taking in a drag before blowing the smoke off to the side, away from his face. He pulled in closer between Cas’ shoulder blades, kisses peppered down his neck, over his shoulder, praising every inch of his flesh like he was god himself. Dean would fall down to his knees and worship him if he asked, but for now, kisses seemed to suffice. 

“Heaven’s boring. White’s boring. I think I like you better rogue,” Dean said between kisses before drawing his chin to face him, stealing a kiss from his lips. “You look good in black.” 

Dean smiled against his lips, stealing kiss after kiss, until Castiel was smiling too. Until he had Cas pulled over top again, hardening again against his hip. Until Dean was wet and his cock was throbbing, until Castiel was sheathed inside of him again, until they were wrapped in black heaven again.

~~~

Sam let out a loud groan, burying his face in his hands. This was no new occurrence, but it was certainly an annoying one. Any given time of day, if Cas and Dean were both in the bunker, no one was safe. There was no real escape from it either, the walls of the bunker being shockingly thin, and the two of them being shockingly loud. He’d slept in the next motel room over through plenty of Dean’s one night stands before, but he’d never gotten this loud with girls.

It was late. He just wanted a beer and some peace and quiet. But it wasn’t even ten minutes after getting home that they were going at it. And once they finally quieted down, it wasn’t fifteen minutes before they were at it again. 

“I’m knocking. I’m gonna get up and knock and make them shut the hell up,” Sam muttered, though it was more of a thin threat than anything else. Everyone knew that he wasn’t going to do that. It had been nearly ten years of sexual tension and bisexual denial before they had finally gotten to it, and Sam knew better than to try and break that up. 

“I wish you would,” Jack said, eyes wide and hands covering his ears. He looked almost frightened, almost scarred by what he was hearing. Sam furrowed a brow, half confused by the reaction. Sure, a few grunts and moans, but it wasn’t that bad. “At least you don’t have to listen to what Castiel’s saying in Enochian. _God.”_

Jack buried his face into his arms, trying to block out the noise. Sam turned to Gabe, eyes wandering toward the hallway, quite obviously listening and intrigued by what was happening behind closed doors. 

“Oh, yeah, no, this is not appropriate for children,” Gabe chuckled, shooting a glance toward Jack. “Keep those ears covered, kid.” 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to talk about what’s appropriate for children,” Jack said, pulling his hands tighter over his ears. “I hear you and Sam in there, and the stuff you say is _much_ worse. And much louder, for that matter. And you don’t even say it in Enochian, anybody can hear you, you know.” 

Sam’s face flushed bright red, burying his face into his hands before moving to cover his own ears, knowing better than to let himself listen to Gabriel’s justifications. Something that came with dating Gabriel was that their sex life was never something kept exactly private. Better not to listen whenever it came up. 

After a few moments, the room fell quiet again. Entirely quiet, the pants and groans coming from Dean’s room silenced. A few seconds passed, and then there was the sound of a door opening and closing again. The sound of footsteps padding down the hallway before Dean emerged in nothing but a pair of boxers and his robe, hair pushed in ten different directions. Eyes kept simultaneously trained on him, none of them daring to look away from him in silent judgment. A silent moment passed, and another, as Dean stood with brows knitted tightly. 

“What?”

Castiel came trailing in behind him, clothes sloppily shrugged back on for the time being. His shirt was buttoned wrong, tie crooked, hair even messier than usual. He looked hazier than usual, swaying slightly where he stood, these big, dreamy blue eyes fixated on Dean, like he was the only other one in the room. _Gross._

It was no well-kept secret what they had been doing, and Jack, Sam, and Gabe had no reservations about passing on judgmental looks. No words were spoken, no accusations thrown, but none were needed. A knowing look was plenty. 

Dean’s ears burned hot, realizing just what those glances meant. He’d dealt plenty of them when he’d been up late to hear Gabe’s filthy mouth shouting out from behind Sam’s door. Flustered and hot, his eyes turned away from them before reaching for Castiel’s hand, who hardly seemed to even notice the way that they were looking at the two of them. He pulled Cas back toward their room, grumbling as he pulled his angel back to the safety of their own four walls. “Oh, shaddup.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, comments please, comments to feed my starving artist soul. I'm a slut for comments.


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